


Rush

by Nope



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-28
Updated: 2003-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: This is what she gets off on.





	Rush

"Buffy," says Fat Man. "What a pretty name."

They laugh. You like it when they don't know you. Little lost girl routine. Gets them every time. The first vamp practically throwing herself on your stake. You grin through the dust and slam a roundhouse into her boyfriend's face. Drive your stake backwards for Slim. Miss the heart but he's screeching. Like a girl. Clutches at his chest. You kick him in the face. Meaty crunch. Damn but you love these steel caps. Boyfriend grabs you from behind. Fat Man coming in from the front. You kick up; hook legs around Fat Man's neck, twist. Snapping your head back at the same time. Bone on bone. Blood spray. Push out of the hold, bounce to your feet. Stomp on Slim for good measure. Spin and punch, and punch, and punch. Ribs breaking under your fist feel so good. Elbow Slim in the throat. Fat Man's flopping but won't stay down. Introduce your knee to Boyfriend's groin; use his back as a vaulting horse. Two boots to Fat Man's chest and he crashes back into some handy crating. Spits "Puta" and dusts as you do Boyfriend. Synchronised. You're so cool. Love this. Live for this. Lust for this. Feral smile. Slim leaps, growling "Chinga tu--"

And it's like he's not even moving.

All the time in the world.

(

Curled up in his arms on your bed. Watching the sun go down. Silk sheets and bruised lips. Slow heat. Drowsy. His fingers on you, lightly stroking. The sky turns orange, turns red. Turns purple. Kisses against your neck. Evening cool and the heat of him. The weight of him. Solid. Supporting you.

You make little appreciative moans as his hand slides down. Push back against him, touching everywhere. Slip your hands over his and guide him lower. Closing your eyes as you come awake. Every nerve tingling. Feel him in your flesh, your bones, your heart and mind and soul. Night rising outside, whispering to you. This first.

You leave each other over and over, but you always come back for this.

)

In and stake and out and. Like dance moves. In, and, stake, and, out, and. Right through his closing syllable and Slim dusts before he hits the ground. Ashes whispering across cobblestones. That's the way it's done. Nice and smooth. Just stake and move on.

Stake and move on.

You listen but there's nothing. Just the night. Vamps in these parts seem to hunt in packs. Makes them easier to find, more fun to kill. But gets it done too fast. You think maybe you'll patrol some more, but as you're following their trail back towards town you hear drum beats and your feet start moving of their own accord. Stake tucked back in your belt. Already stepping in rhythm even before you slink up to the bouncer. He just waves you in. Not even bored appraisal. You might remember to be insulted. Later. Not now. Now you need to dance.

Hot beats. Latin rhythms. Fast. Loud. The way you like it. Driving everything else from your head. Fills you. Moves you. Heart beating in sync. Puts a sway in your steps. Mirrors on the walls. Makes the small space seem large. Lets you watch yourself move. Slinky pants, black top, blonde wave of hair. Thin hips swinging. Well toned arms rising by themselves. Swaying. Watch yourself dance. Whistles from the crowd. Boys come up to try. You match them, shimmy for shimmy. Rub back against their chests. Your hands, their hands, moving on your body. Loose yourself in the music. Eyes locked on the mirror.

"Really," you think, you remember, "We're just good friends."

(

She dies and you know it, just. Know it.

Not anywhere close by, but. Feel it in your blood, taste it on your tongue. You were expecting a dream, somehow, making beds in old rooms, same sheet, same cover, new game just like the old, but all you get is the knowing. Not where, or how, but that she went down hard, went down protecting her own, went down victorious. And you know, even if she didn't really want it at all, but if it had to be, then this was how she wanted it. Making it count, no matter what came before, no matter what mistakes she might have made, what paths she should have taken. Being there at the end, making a difference. That was enough. More than. You feel peace. An almost overwhelming sense of peace. Wake with unnoticed tears drying on your cheeks to find little sister has joined the two of you in the bed. She whimpers, subsides at your touch. You curl up between them, listen to their hearts beat until you can sleep again.

And, beyond that, you do not mourn; but you remember, and that's enough.

)

Too bright in your head. Sweat slick and hot breathing. You try to get off the dance floor. One guy gets too much in your way and you forget to hold back. Not even the pressing weight of the crowd can keep him on his feet. Six foot slide. You're gone while he's still falling. Step easy through the statue crowd. Working the spaces. The bar firmly in your sights. Dodge around a brunette in a power-suit. You have time to notice she'd drinking a white wine spritzer, has a jade bracelet on her left wrist, emerald stud earrings. She blinks at you in slow surprise. But you're gone. Gone, gone, gone.

And the bartender is saying something in... Spanish, maybe, and you shrug a shoulder and look bored and this gets you a glass and a dusty, unlabelled bottle and a "well, go on then" stare. So you take the top off and take a cautious sniff. Smells sweet. A little fruity. Pours out clear. Leaves slow trails when you spin the glass. Tastes sweet. An explosion of peach in your mouth. Heat searing your throat. Warms you right through. You swear loudly and, when the barman reaches for the bottle, you snatch it back. He laughs and you take another sip.

Slow sweetness and a peach kick.

Perfect.

You try to give him money but he says something at length of which the only word you understand is "Slayer"

You say "gracias" and he laughs and says "de nada" and moves away as you fill another glass. As you drink. Each sip smoother than the one before.

(

He's sweat drenched and shaking. You snap the top completely off his bottle of pills. Child proof. Not slayer proof. Tip out a handful and drop the bottle on the table, cursing when they spill. Climb over him, hold him still, press one on his tongue. Fetch him water, hold the glass while he swallows, follow it with a kiss. And his eyes, when he looks at you, are full of concern. Even now. Feels like a spotlight. But. Good. Not bad as before. Like it's maybe okay that he cares. Like maybe it's more than. Like maybe it's a little mutual. Like maybe it's not him and you. It's us.

Shivers slowing as the pills kick in.

And you say, "The things they did to you."

And he says, his eyes so sure, so sincere. "And I left them. For you."

And you don't say anything, not with words. But your lips and fingers and body say please and want and need and please, oh, please, please.

"Always for you," he says, insists, promises.

"Always."

)

You like the way you move, you decide. You're not drunk. Not even close. Slayer privilege. But you're down just enough to ease out the lines. Everything easy. Everything smooth. Clear. Liquid motion. You slide the glass around in your hands. Around and around. Someone slides onto the next seat along, touches your shoulder. You've already drawn back your elbow to pop them one when you catch his reflection. So much taller than, broader than you. Blonde and Blond. Secret army physique. Muscles firm against your fingers. Strong heartbeat.

"Riley," you say and turn and melt across the distance to him.

"Found you," he says. Wearing that eager-to-please puppy dog smile. Makes you want to pat his head, say "good boy", so you do, and he laughs and pulls you onto his lap.

"You always find me," you say and duck your head to lick at his neck.

"Always will," he agrees, holding you tight, pushing against you as you wriggle, heat in his smile now.

(

Someone says "Buffy" and your first instinct is to run, just drop everything and run, don't look back, never look back. But you've started over so many times and it was just getting good and it's not fair, it's not, so you turn around and you look.

He's saying something about "Joyce said you took off" and "after Faith" and "ran, like before, with Angel" and so many things and there's this look in his eye that you don't think you've ever seen so clearly, so deeply on anyone before.

"I looked for you," he says.

(Well, if you don't wanna play--)

"I looked everywhere," he says.

(Right. I don't wanna play.)

"I looked and looked and looked," he says.

(I love you.)

"And now I've found you," he says.

"Yeah," you say. "You found me."

His smile is bright.

Blinding.

)

"And now you've got me," you say, insistent music in your head, fingers tapping on his chest, "what are you going to do with me?"

And, okay, someone clearly broke time because they're outside and how the hell did that happen? and, also, who cares? because you've got your fingers in Riley's hair and he's pushing up your top, mouthing at a nipple. And you haven't gone far because you can still hear the music from the bar throbbing though you. Deep bass ache. Rubbing against brick. Shove him back, kiss him until he's stumbling from lack of air. Toss your head back. Laugh.

It's hot. Hot out here. Heat on you and in you and is that the music or thunder? "Both" laughs Riley and you throw yourself at him, wrap arms and legs around him and he lets out a startled, delighted gasp, turns with your momentum, shoves the both of you against a chain-link fence that clashes and rattles behind you. You pull at his shirt, at his t-shirt, tearing them, scraping fingertips against his skin. He growls against your throat, lifts you with ease as he bites and licks his way down.

He tugs your pants down over your hips. You snap out a hand, automatic, catch the stake before it can fall. He keeps pulling, grins at your lack of underwear. Pulls them low and ducks under them, your legs over his shoulders, hands on your hips, huge hands, he's so big. Holds you steady. Looks up. Feral grin. Huge black pupils you can see yourself in. Flush in his skin. His breath on yours. Goose flesh crawl. Lightning shimmer.

"Love you," says Riley and dives between your thighs.

And jesus fuck he's good. You reach back and up, grab the top of the fence with one hand, the other holding the stake, fingers stretching to entwine in his hair, wood rubbing against his skull, his tongue on you, in you. Arch your back. Push down against him. Grinding. Fucking explosion over you and it's raining, hot, copper rain, that can't possibly be, and god Riley, Riley, "Riley!"

A clattering from up the alley and through the rising haze and the red falling rain you see a shape coming towards you, sense flicker, overwhelmed by the crashing waves from between your legs, the blood pounding in your ears, red tide, red rain, everything collapsing and rising and rising and rising and you fall away from the fence, your whole weight down on him, against him, pushing and pushing, and you're almost, almost, and you can't quite, and, fuck, doesn't Riley need to breathe, you need to breathe, you can't, no air, he's, fucking tongue, and there's fangs in the darkness and it's almost on you and you close one hand against the back of Riley's skull and push and punch out the other stake sure and true and Riley's tongue goes there right there and the demon screams and everything

explodes

into

.

(

"...six, four, four, seven."

You're sitting on Joyce's bed, reading numbers into the phone.

"Uh, expiration, five, oh, one. Unh huh. Yeah."

You take the cash from the purse, count it with a flick of your thumb.

"Ten a.m. is your earliest flight?"

"Yes," says the man on the phone. And then, "Oh, there's just been a cancellation on the flight at six."

You nod and grin and say "I'll take it."

And what you hear is free, free, I'll be free

)

"Could've been bitten," you say when you can breathe.

Riley just smiles. Wipes wet mouth off on the back of his hand. Grins. Says "I wasn't worried."

"No?"

"No." Grin widens. "I had Faith in you."

And your eyes are on him and his on yours, aftershocks still trailing through you, and you open your mouth to speak and he shakes his head and says, "It's raining blood."

"Yeah," you say. "I'd noticed."

"That's probably an omen," he says. 

His eyes are bright, alert, poised, ready for action. Your heart is pounding, blood loud, skin trembling, thoughts electric. You're both right there on the edge and you say, "Yeah. Okay. Yes" and he smiles and says, "Time for one more before we save the world again?" and that's it. He's laughing. You're laughing. You're a Slayer in love. You've got the power, the family, the mission. There's an apocalypse around every corner and you're going to be right there to kick its ass, looking good while you do it. Life's the biggest drug you've ever had. You've never been more awake than you are right now.

The world's going to Hell.

You're five by five.


End file.
